


Lost Things

by thedevilchicken



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, First Meetings, Pre-Canon, Sakaar (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-30 01:50:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19032286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: Gamora comes to Sakaar to find something. Scrapper 142 offers to help.





	Lost Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lionessvalenti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/gifts).



Everyone knows who she is. Even Scrapper 142. 

For all that she's a drunk - and she knows she's a drunk, she's not an idiot - she's not, well, _an idiot_ ; when a daughter of Thanos turned up on Sakaar, it wasn't like she overlooked that fact. At least not after she'd finished her drink. 

"So lovely to see you!" the Grandmaster said. He swept up to her, all eyeliner and stupid fucking coat, arms spread wide like he wasn't as curious and cautious as the rest of them about what exactly she was doing there. "To what do we owe the, ah, pleasure of your company in our humble little corner of the galaxy?"

142 watched them. Gamora wasn't exactly inconspicuous and more to the point, she absolutely wasn't trying to be. The Grandmaster was trying to act like his question didn't mean _so, is your dad coming, too?_ Thanos turning up wouldn't've been particularly great for business. It also wouldn't've been great for half the people on the planet. 

"I'm looking for something," Gamora said, and she didn't elaborate on what that was. No one asked her to, either, though the Grandmaster was practically salivating at the prospect of finding it for her. And maybe selling it to her, maybe giving it to her, because let's face it, Thanos' good will had to be worth a lot more than scrap was.

Gamora said nothing; she just eyed him and eyed them like he and the whole room and the whole damned planet were something she'd squashed on the windscreen of her ship that she couldn't quite wash off. The silence stretched for the length of a whole new drink, not that the drink took long. Then 142 stood up. 

"Hey, I can probably help," she said, not quite drunk enough to fall but she leaned against the bar anyway, deciding the extra stability couldn't hurt. "For a price, at least." 

Gamora turned to her. She narrowed her eyes. After a moment, during which the whole room full of cowards all held their breath, Gamora stalked closer. 

"We will discuss compensation after," she said. 

142 smiled sweetly. "We'll discuss it before or you can find your shit yourself," she replied. 

She half expected a fight, but the fight she half expected never came. She half expected a threat, and Gamora looked half like she might like to make one, but then she just nodded curtly. She had great hair, 142 thought, idly. It was a shame it was attached to who it was attached to.

"Take me to your ship," Gamora snapped. "I don't have time to waste." There are no words in any language she knows to describe how relieved - and conflicted - the Grandmaster looked that they didn't fight. He probably would've liked to have seen it.

So, 142 took her to her ship and even almost acted like she thought all of this was urgent, too; pay her enough and she'll treat anything that way. But now, three days later, with no sign of what they're looking for, she mutters, "I guess you have time to waste after all." 

"Would you call it wasted?" Gamora replies. 

"Well, we might've found what you're looking for if you'd just tell me what it is."

"Do you really want to talk about scrap?"

Gamora is standing in 142's bathroom doorway and she's lit from behind because the bedroom light's turned off, but that doesn't make her any less naked. It just makes the parts of her that 142 is almost sure she touched last night seem almost as shrouded mystery as her as the crap she's been looking for. Which is to say, not very well shrouded at all. 

"About as much as you want to talk about Thanos," she replies. And maybe Gamora doesn't appreciate that, but she appreciates the truth of it. She comes back to bed. She straddles 142's hips and she pins her wrists above her head. She's stronger than she looks, and she looks strong. Her long hair tickles 142's collarbones and she's tempted to wrench one wrist free and tangle her fingers into it but sometimes it pays to keep exactly who and what she is just to herself. Gamora's the one with the story, not her.

In the morning, she'll tell her casually that maybe she knows someone who knows someone who knows where to find a bunch of scrap that came in from Zen-Whoberi a while ago. And maybe Gamora will act like that's not what she came here for, and she's offended by her presumption, but something tells 142 that'll be a truly enormous lie. Almost as much as the lie that she's here on her father's orders.

No one comes to Sakaar to find things that aren't lost, and she wouldn't be here all alone if Thanos thought this lost thing was important, so maybe he doesn't know where she is at all. 142 might have had one drink too many maybe ten drinks or so ago, but that doesn't mean she's not right. 

For now, though, she lets her pretend. She lets Gamora slip her mouth down to the side of her neck and scrape at her skin with the points of her teeth. She lets her lick at her throat and suck at her collarbones and dip her tongue between her thighs to not quite tease her there. She knows what she's doing. 142 gasps a breath and twists her fingers in the sheets. When she's done, and that won't take long, she thinks she'll return the favour. Gamora didn't come here to find her long lost orgasm, but no one ever complains about finding one.

She lets her pretend. Calling her out will only mean she'll leave, and they're kind of in the middle of something.

She lets her pretend. After all, Scrapper 142 knows all about pretending.


End file.
